


This Love Won’t Break Your Heart

by Somedeepmystery



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Getting Together, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Romance, Slice of Life, Some Fluff, Some angst, Truth Serum, a mass of oc's that no one knows or cares about, bed sharing, gaby's got a plan, good boss waverly, research in NOT my kink, solo secretly loves his team, some spilled coffee, well he thinks it's secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 09:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13338459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somedeepmystery/pseuds/Somedeepmystery
Summary: The Holidays are mostly over but Illya and Gaby still seem to be talking at cross purposes. She has a plan to try and set their relationship straight but a mission and an unexpected dose of truth serum might ruin her plans completely. So much for a Happy New Year.





	This Love Won’t Break Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diadema](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diadema/gifts).



> This is so, unforgivably late!
> 
> This last November, diadema set her self the daunting task of 31 days of flash fiction. Not only did she accomplish her goal, she gifted us all with some beautiful reading in the process. She's a gift to the community, always encouraging and sharing the love, and she's been an invaluable gift to me. 
> 
> So this is for her.
> 
> (Title from a song of the same name by Annalise Emerick.)

 

❧

 

Christmas was over. The decorated trees had come down, baubles stowed, tinsel put away for next year. There were no more lights in the windows or holly on the lampposts. All that was left behind was old, dirty snow, and a dreary world.

Napoleon Solo kicked at a pile of slush as his partner, Gaby Teller, accepted two cups of coffee from Javier, the grumpy gentleman who ran the corner stand.

“You know, as happy as I am for the shiny optimism of Christmas to be finished,” Solo said as he accepted one of the cups from her. “It is always a bit of a letdown when you realize all that’s left is a long, cold winter.”

Gaby shook her head and started off down the sidewalk. “You’re just going to miss the parties.” She took a sip from her cup and made a face at the taste. “There’s still one left, so don’t get all melancholy on me yet.”

“Ah yes, New Year’s Eve, the best party of them all.” He smiled at her, a mix of charm and enthusiasm that drew a return smile from her easily.

“I hope it’s the drinks and fireworks you're excited for and not all the baubles people tend to wear to these parties. Easy for plucking.”

“Gaby Teller, you know very well I am a reformed man,” he said. “It’s definitely the fireworks, although maybe not the kind you’re thinking of.”

“I see. Have you got your midnight kiss all picked out then?”

“Mmm, no, no not yet. What about you darling? Would you be my kiss to ring in the new year?”

Gaby snorted. “I’m sure I can find a better, more sincere offer.”

He put a hand to his chest. “You wound me,” he said. “I was being completely sincere… barring any other developments…”

Gaby laughed. “Exactly. Sorry, Solo. I’m not going to be your backup kiss.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” He sipped prettily from his paper up. “You’ll be too busy waiting for a particular, tall Russian to come to his senses.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gaby said before pausing to check a piece of paper in her hand. He squinted at it over her shoulder but it her scrawl was indecipherable.

“No, of course you don’t,” Solo responded, completely unconvinced. He took a moment to look around for the first time since they had started walking. “Where are we going?”

“I have a quick errand to run before I head back to the office.” She turned to look up at him, dark eyes a mix of calm and affected indifference. “You can go back without me, if you like.”

Oh, she was up to something. “That’s all right, I could use the stretch of the legs. I feel like I’ve been filling out paperwork for weeks.”

“Because we _have_ been filling out paperwork for weeks,” Gaby said, starting forward again. “I have to admit though, it was nice to stay in the city for Christmas.”

“Maybe you're right,” he said with a sigh. “But now I’m quite done with it.”

Yes, he was done, certainly he was. Weeks spent in their company, parties, meals together, exchanging gifts. It was like his partners were becoming some kind of family. That was the last thing he needed. No, he could really use a break. Maybe tomorrow.

They walked several more blocks before Gaby stopped in front of a rundown building and checked her address again. It was a hole in the wall apartment building with a glass door and a broken railing. Solo stopped beside her and looked around, taking in the dilapidated area, checking a group of young men watching them from across the street. He slid his hands into his pockets, trying to look relaxed as he made sure the smaller of his pistols was there where he usually put it.

Bells rang overhead as Gaby stepped inside, and he followed after her. The air had a musty quality to it and the light was dim, dust motes dancing in the beam of winter sun that came in through the front door.

“Hello!” he heard Gaby call and turned in her direction.

An older woman stepped out of the nearest apartment, her face lighting up at the sight of Gaby.

“Hello, Agnes,” Gaby said giving the woman a friendly smile.

“Hello, dear!” the woman said coming forward to greet them. “C’mon inside, I have your package all ready.”

“Thank you so much for getting it finished so quickly.”

Gaby followed the woman into her home and Solo followed after her. It was rundown, the linoleum worn through to the wood in some places, the curtains faded, but it was clean. There was a line of wooden knick-knacks on the counter, figurines and keepsake boxes, each one carved in lovingly, precise detail.

The woman set a box on the Formica table top and Solo peered at it curiously from behind Gaby. It was a square and about three inches thick, but it was neatly wrapped in plain brown paper and there was nothing else to give away the contents. Gaby set her hands on the edges of it, resting them there for a moment as a thoughtful look passed over her features. Then she reached for her purse, retrieving her wallet and pulling out several bills. She handed them to the woman and Solo watched as she counted them carefully.

She looked back up, already shaking her head and Solo almost rolled his eyes before he heard her speak. “Oh, this is too much,” she exclaimed, trying to hand some of them back. Solo blinked.

Gaby shook her head and refused, pushing them back toward the older woman.

“That’s what I said I would pay.”

“But it’s too much, dear.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s exactly right. All the work, plus the special sourcing.”

“It was nothing, really. It’s so much money.”

“You earned it.”

The woman continued to hold out the money and Gaby staunchly refused to take it. Finally, Gaby reached into her purse and pulled out two more bills. “If you don’t except it, I’ll just pay you more. I’ll leave this money right here and walk away.” She set one of the bills down, pressing it to the table with her fingers.

“No, no!” the woman said, her eyes wide. “You can’t darling. You’re so sweet, please.”

Gaby raised an eyebrow and set the other bill down as in in challenge. The woman started giggling then and reached forward to smack Gaby playfully on the arm. “Stop! All right, all right, you stubborn girl.”

Gaby laughed then lifted the package, hugging it to her chest. She left the extra bills where they lay. “I’ll see you later, Agnes. Take care of yourself.” Gaby turned and moved toward the door but Solo took an extra moment to look around, his curiosity eating at him. What had Gaby purchased from this woman? He just had to know.

Gaby started walking back the way they had come as soon as he emerged and he quickly fell into step beside her. Watching her carefully for a few moments.

“You know,” he remarked. “Most people, presented with the possibility of paying _less_ money, accept the opportunity.”

“It would ruin the whole thing if I didn’t pay her what she deserves. You saw where she lived, she needs the money more than I do.”

The sound of hurried footsteps approaching from behind diverted him from his next comment.

“You seemed to have drawn some attention,” he said instead.

“Yes, I noticed.”

“How many times have you come to this neighborhood?”

“Several, why?”

“By yourself?”

“I can handle myself, Solo,” she said and there was an edge to it he recognized. Gaby did not put up with being coddled.

“Of course you can,” he replied, and she could, he knew that but it didn’t stop him from disliking the idea of her being in a situation where she had to.

“Hey,” a gruff voice called and the two agents stopped.

Gaby sighed, her shoulders falling. One of the men put a hand on her arm to turn her around. Solo reacted immediately, stepping forward but he was blocked by several other members of the group. One of them lifted his chin, pointing a knife. “Give us your wallet,” he demanded, looking smug backed by his little gang.

“This is a very bad idea,” Solo told him. The kid just laughed.

“Eyah!” he heard Gaby shout and all the men turned toward her to find their companion sprawled on the ground, clutching his knee. Gaby flipped her hair back out of her face and brought her pistol up to bear, hand steady, parcel still tucked securely beneath her arm. “Anyone else like to spend their life limping?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she looked them over.

Solo smiled down at the two men in front of him. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

They turned back to him sharply only to find he also had a gun in his hand, having used their distraction to retrieve it. They backed away, glaring between the two agents, picking up their friend before shuffling off down the street.

Gaby and Solo watched them until they were a fair bit off and then turned around, tucking their guns away. Gaby lifted a hand to smooth back her bangs and Solo looked to her with a smile.

“So, what’s in the package?”

“That,” she said archly, setting a hand over the crisp brown paper. “Is none of your business.”

 

❧

 

Illya looked up from his desk as Gaby came into the office, a smile lighting her face. She looked windswept, her nose and cheeks pink from cold. Some unnamed thing in his chest eased at the sight of her. He opened his mouth to greet her but closed it quickly, frowning as Solo came in right behind her. He watched as they laughed together, Gaby shoving Solo playfully when he said something Illya couldn’t hear. _Probably something inappropriate_. He flexed his jaw at the thought.

He looked back down to the form he was filling out but his head popped immediately back up to look at Gaby again, watching her unwrap the cashmere scarf he had given her for Christmas. She had worn it every day since, which was more than could be said for the earrings Cowboy had given her.

Of course, it was cold outside, making a scarf a very useful accessory. The thought took some of the edge off his happiness, even as it mollified some of his pride.

 _Yes, it was good that he had given her a practical gift_ . _Even if that was the only reason she was wearing it._

She unfastened the large buttons on her wool coat, slipping it from her shoulders and moving to hang it from the coat rack in the corner. Beneath the coat, she was wearing a dark blue A-line skirt, and a simple, white blouse with cut out sleeves. She looked professional and pretty and he found himself looking at her for a little longer than he intended. When he looked away, he found Solo smirking at him and he set his jaw again, returning to his paperwork.

“I thought you were just going to get coffee,” he said to divert any commentary Cowboy might feel like starting up. That was the last thing he needed. His voice was sharper than he intended and Gaby turned from putting away her purse.

“I had an errand to run,” she said, frowning at him. “I didn’t realize that I needed your permission.”

Illya flinched internally at the rebuke. “That is not what I meant,” he said. “The two of you were gone longer than expected is all, and there is much paperwork to finish.”

“Surely you can do your part without us,” Gaby said, dropping into her seat. “It’s not like we’re making you do all the work.”

Illya closed his eyes. It didn’t seem to matter what he said; it was always the wrong thing. That thought didn’t stop the next words from coming out of his mouth, however. “No, we need to fill them out together, so they are cohesive. Unless, you want me to tell things only as _I_ see them.”

This was a reference to a particularly risky stunt  Gaby had pulled on their last mission. A stunt that had paid off but by a very narrow margin. They had agreed not to mention in in the report (it wasn’t as if he and Solo hadn’t pulled their own share of life threatening antics,) but he was still displeased with the idea. It was not because he wanted her to be in trouble but because he wanted to take some recourse to keep her from _ever_ doing it again.

He still lay in bed some nights thinking about how many ways it could have gotten her killed. Then she wouldn’t be sitting there glaring at him, her dark eyes glittering with anger. No, she’d be dead and that wasn’t something he could afford to think about.

He realized his finger was tapping and moved his hand to his lap out of sight, smoothing it over his thigh in an attempt to stop it.

“Don’t threaten me, Illya,” Gaby was saying, pushing up from her seat. “If I hadn’t—”

“All right, children,” Solo cut in, stepping further into the room. “I think that’s enough of that.” Illya and Gaby both turned their glares on him.

Solo just smiled and took his seat behind his desk, pulling a sheet of paper off the pile in his in-box.

“Oh look, more forms…” he said and settled in with his pen.

Gaby made a sound of annoyance, drawing Illya’s attention back to her. She snatched up a small stack of her own paperwork and smacked it down in front of her, grabbing a pen, still glaring at Solo. Illya felt a small bit of satisfaction at the fact Cowboy was bearing some of her annoyance now instead of just him. Especially since his original comment on tardiness had been intended for the American anyway.

He couldn’t stop himself from watching her as she finally bent to work. She scratched her pen across the paper then lifted it, looking at the tip before trying it a few more times. Then she tossed it aside and began looking through her drawers, motions rushed with irritation.

Without a thought to the fact she might still be angry with him, Illya picked up one of his own pens and stood to his feet. Her desk was only a few steps from his and he held the pen out to her without commentary.

She looked up her eyes bright with annoyance. When she saw it was him, something changed, a flicker he couldn’t decipher, then she looked down at the pen and back at him, making no move to accept it. For a moment they just stared at each other, then she stood to her feet making her chair legs scrape loudly over the wood floor.

“I’m going to work on the Lincoln.” Then she turned away and marched from the room without a backward glance.

Illya watched her go, a frown creasing the lines on his forehead. He closed his fingers around the pen as that odd sense of emptiness reasserted itself. He could not seem to do a single thing right when she was around, but he hated it when she was gone. It was ridiculous.

“Well played, Peril,” Solo said casually, not even looking up from the paperwork he was speeding through, likely giving as little attention to it as possible. Illya felt an extra jolt of irritation at the man’s lack of concern for proper reports.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shot back, returning to his desk and setting the rejected pen in its holder.

“If that were actually true,” Solo commented. “It might serve as an excuse.”

Illya chose to ignore him.

 

❧

 

Gaby climbed under the chassis of the Lincoln Continental convertible and let herself get lost in finding its secrets. Working on the car allowed the tension to flow out of her body, her shoulders relaxing into the cement, the tightness in her gut fading away. But it also allowed her mind to wander and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep her thoughts away from Illya.

She cursed low under her breath, yanking on the wrench in her hand, as she thought of what had happened back in the office.

She had felt a little on edge when she’d walked into the room. The encounter with the troublemakers near Agnes’ shop, along with Solo’s continued pestering about her purchase, both getting under her skin. Even after they had dropped the package off at her flat he had kept up his questioning the entire return trip.

Then there was the package itself to think about…

She bit her lip, deciding for the hundredth time that the whole thing was a bad idea. What had happened upstairs was just proof of that.

She realized now that Illya’s remark had been intended for _Solo_ and not her. She had just acted defensively, like she always did. Attacking before she could be attacked and Illya’s defenses had shot up, just like _they_ always did.

She hated that they were always misunderstanding each other. She thought she knew why now... but that didn’t make it any easier...

Pushing away the thoughts once more, she tried to focus on the engine in front of her. This was something she could fix, this was easy, straightforward. And engine couldn’t break her heart...

“Martin,” she called out, looking for the mechanic that had been working when she came it. “Can you get me a… ugh, stupid imperial system… three quarters inch?”

There was a moment of quiet followed by footsteps and the clinking of metal, then a hand reaching toward her with the requested wrench. She took it, her fingers incidentally sliding over those holding the wrench and she knew the instant they touched that it was not Martin handing it to her. She turned her head to find Illya peering at her from beyond the car and jumped in surprise, knocking her head against the engine.

“Gaby!” Illya called at the same time as she grit out, “ _scheisse_!”

She felt his touch on her ankles, his large hands wrapping around them completely, and then he was pulling her out from beneath the car. She squeezed her eyes against tears of pain and let him help her to her feet before brushing him off to stand on her own. The ever-present electricity of his touch was more than she could deal with at the moment.

“You’re bleeding,” he said flatly, and she opened one eye to peer up at him. He was frowning down at her forehead.

She lifted a hand to check and felt his fingers on her wrist, stopping her. His fingers, like always, were cool but the touch warmed her all the same, humming along her skin and into her bloodstream.

“Your hands are dirty.” His voice was soft and deep, concerned.

She sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes, taking her hand back. The action added to the throb that had set up in her skull but she pressed on anyway. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“C’mon,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. The weight of it made her want to lean into him but she resisted it, lifting her chin and rolling her shoulder to get him off. “There is a first aid kit in the corner.”

“I know where it is,” she snipped. _Again_. She ground her teeth, this time at herself. Why did she always react like this to him?

He seemed to be ignoring her attitude, going for the case first and pulling it down onto one of the work tables. She watched him take out several items, arranging them on the table before looking back at her. She caught his blue eyes for a moment, the look of concern laced with something else, that thing she so often saw in him and fiercely wished she could be sure of. She cleared her throat and looked at the alcohol wipes instead of his face.

“Here,” she said holding out her hand. “I can take care of it. It’s not my first time.”

Illya made a little noise. “You cannot even see the injury.”

“I’ll find a mirror.”

He stilled, leaning on the table for a moment, before turning his gaze back to her. “Just let me help you.” The words were said softly, sincere, those eyes of his looking into her, through her and she couldn’t say no.

“Fine,” she stepped closer. She gasped as he lifted her up, setting her on the table where he could reach her better. She blinked up at him, leaning away slightly when she found him too close. He brought a hand up to the side of her face, hand gentle as he turned her so he could inspect her wound, effectively bringing her closer again. She felt a little trickle of blood, running into her eyebrow now and tried to reach for it again. Illya took her hand and set it in her lap, patting it before reaching for a cloth. She felt the gentle pressure as he cleaned her up and her gaze flicked up to his face, his chin, his mouth and then away again only to find herself looking at his jaw, his neck, the skin that disappeared into the v of his shirt where he had removed his tie.

“Did you come down here to lecture me about the paperwork?”

He sighed. “ _No_ , only to see if you were all right.” His voice was a low rumble as his fingers made feather light touches over her skin. “It is after five and you did not come back.”

“Oh.” After five? She really had gotten lost in her work.

“It is easy to get caught up when you enjoy what you are doing,” he said as if reading her thoughts. She felt the warmth of his breath on her forehead when he spoke, and she found herself looking up at him again. He was so close. She could sense his body heat in the cool garage, smell his aftershave and the natural musk of his body, a scent she had come to know as distinctly his.

He opened a bandage and she felt him press it to her forehead, thumbs smoothing over it several times before he looked down at her with a subtle smile.

“All finished.” His gaze scanned her face, landing on her lips a moment before catching her eyes. He took a step back but she grabbed his wrist, halting him.

“Illya,” she started. She didn’t know what she was going to say, she just knew she didn’t want him to step away from her yet. He looked from her hand to her face, the look in his eyes a combination of caution and something else, maybe hope. She opened her mouth, to say something, anything.

“There you two are,” Solo’s voice came from beyond them and Illya pulled away, taking two steps back. Her hand fell from his wrist and she set it on the table top a moment before pushing off to stand on her feet. “I was wondering if either of you wanted to go to dinner. I have a table at Carello’s and my date just canceled.”

“Afraid of eating alone?” Gaby asked, taking hold of the distraction with both hands.

Solo frowned. “Afraid? Not at all, but one doesn’t waste Carello’s on a table for one. C’mon. It’ll be my treat.”

“He must be very desperate if he has come to _us_ ,” Illya said and Gaby looked up at him, catching the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I agree, surely there is a woman somewhere who would jump at this opportunity.”

“This is true.”

Solo gave them a look that held just a hint of scowl. “Of course, I simply thought I’d offer an opportunity to my partners. It has been a long day after all. But I supposed Angelique would love dinner at Carello’s.”

“Do they have tiramisu?” Gaby asked before he had gone too far and Solo turned back, smiling.

“The best in the city.”

“I could eat,” Illya said, crossing his arms and giving a little shrug. “Might as well be on you.”

Solo made a face.

 

❧

 

The next morning, Gaby was looking into the mirror, focused on sliding an earring into her ear. “When are you going to buy yourself more coffee?” she called out toward her living room and the person she knew was waiting for her there.

“I’ll eventually get around to it,” Solo’s voice called back. “Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Not at all.” She finished up with the other earring and stood back to check herself in the mirror.

Her blouse was a soft teal, her skirt a sturdy brown. Boring office wear, but at least her legs looked nice. She was going to freeze on the way to work but… there would be a payoff. She suppressed a smile, thinking of the look on Illya’s face whenever she walked in with lots leg showing, and headed out to the main area of her apartment.

She stopped, all thoughts of teasing gone when she saw Solo bent over her dining room table, the package she had picked up yesterday open in front of him.

“What are you doing?” The words were sharp, her eyes piercing him. Not that it did any good. The man had no conscience to be pricked by such things.

“It’s a chess set.”

“I know it’s a chess set,” she bit out. “I ordered it.” She strode past him to the kitchen, snatching a mug from an overhead cupboard and snapping it shut. taking a deep breath, she pushed the anger aside so he hands wouldn’t shake as she poured her coffee. She wanted to grab the gift from him, put it somewhere out of sight, but she knew that would only give it more significance in his mind.

“What is it for? I’ve never seen you play chess.”

“Like I told you yesterday, it’s none of your business.”

She turned back to him and settled her bottom back against the counter, mug held against her chest as she stared him down through the kitchen doorway.

Solo looked from the chess set to her and back again. He ran a hand over the board. “Is this Russian Olive?”

Gaby lifted a shoulder in nonchalance. “I think so. I thought it was nice.”

She watched his head tip to the side, that brain of his working, solving, sliding bits of info into place like the tumblers on a safe.

“Christmas is over.”

Gaby rolled her eyes. “I know that.”

“You already gave him a gift. A very nice cap, if I recall.”

Gaby took a slow sip of her coffee. “He doesn’t celebrate Christmas. New Years is their holiday.”

“In the Soviet Union,” Solo said. He opened one of the little drawers where the chess pieces were stored and pulled out the white queen, she was carved from a warm, pale wood and Gaby watched him turn her over in his fingers. “He seemed like he was celebrating. Or… at least Peril’s version of it. Ate the food, gave gifts...”

Gaby moved forward then and took the queen from his hand, putting it back in its place. “All the more reason I thought it would be nice to acknowledge _this_.”

“I see, just a friendly gesture between partners.”

“Exactly,” she picked up the chess set and carried it back to her room away from his greedy hands.

When she returned, Solo was sliding on his coat, his coffee cup sitting empty on the table. “Speaking of Peril, maybe we should pick him up on the way to the office. We could all walk together.”

She looked at him suspiciously for a moment then said, “Sure, we could do that.”

 

❧

 

Illya sighed as he stripped off the coffee stained dress shirt, laying it on his growing laundry pile. The machines in his building had been out of order for weeks and he hadn’t had time, with all the ridiculous holiday events, to go to a laundromat. His undershirt was soaked as well, the brown liquid having seeped right through to scald his skin. He tossed the undershirt aside as well and went to the bathroom to press a cool wet cloth against the red welt over his diaphragm.

He was not the type to spill his coffee, especially on himself, but this morning was apparently an exception. The children in his building were all home from school for the holidays and, in their restless boredom, had developed an odd fixation on him. He wasn’t sure if it was his height or the fact that he was Russian but they had taken to spying on him from beneath the stairs and around the corners. The new game was apparently to knock on his door and then run away before he opened it.

This morning one of the younger girls had frozen on his doorstep, staring up at him with frightened green eyes. When he’d asked her if he she was all right, she’d screamed so loudly that he’d jumped. He shook his head at the shameful memory.

He was expecting one or more of her parents at his door later, demanding an explanation. He sighed again and ran the washcloth under more icy water before wringing it out and returning it to his skin. He rolled his eyes as another knock sounded at his door. Tossing the cloth into the sink, he hurried down the small entry hall, throwing open the door in hopes of catching them at it.

Instead, Gaby was standing there, her cheeks and the tip of her nose pink with cold and her dark eyes going wide at his sudden appearance. She took a reflexive step back, and her gaze traveled slowly over his torso before snapping back up to his face.

“Gaby,” he said in surprise. “I’m sorry I thought… it doesn’t matter. Is everything all right?”

“I, um, that is to say, _we_ ,” she stumbled, her gaze once more leaving his face to glance at his chest. Which was when he remembered he was standing there half naked.

Solo chose that moment to pop up behind her. “Peril, is this any way to greet a lady? Although I dare to say,” he gave Gaby a once over, “the lady doesn’t seem to mind.”

Illya pulled back and Gaby looked away, crossing her arms.

“What are you doing here?”

“We thought it would be nice if we all walked together,” Solo said. “Team building, camaraderie, all that stuff Waverly is always pushing on us.”

Illya waved for them to come in and stepped back inside. “I thought you would have had enough over the past weeks,” he aimed at Solo before ducking in his bedroom to find another shirt.

“Is it so bad to walk with us?” he heard Gaby ask. Her voice was close and he turned to find she had followed him into his room. He blinked, watching as she looked around his most personal space.

“No,” he said. “Of course not. It was just unexpected.”

Gaby smiled and moved closer to him, peering inside his closet. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from her, even as she made a little frown. “Illya, I know you like to keep things minimalistic, but this might be taking things too far.”

He turned at her words to find that he had exactly one navy blue turtleneck left hanging in his closet.

“The washing machine is broken,” he explained, reaching in for the shirt and pulling it on over his head.

“Oh,” Gaby said.

When he emerged from the neck of the shirt, Her eyes seemed to dart up and away from him. She looked all around the room before turning back, her dark eyes fixing on his face. And there was that _zing_ … that hum of awareness he always felt when she was near. Sometimes, he thought she might feel it too.

“Well, you can come over and use the one in my building.”

“Thank you,” he said, giving her a little nod. “That is very kind of you.”

She waved a hand in the air as if her words were of little importance.

“Can’t have you coming into the office in dirty clothes, now can we?”

“I suppose not,” he said a smile pulling at his lips.

“So…” she started.

“Maybe…” he said at the same time.

“What are you two getting up to in here?” Solo asked from the doorway and they both spun around to look at him.

He was leaning up against the bedroom doorway, coffee mug in hand. Illya looked from him to the cup and back again.

“Feel free to make yourself at home,” he said dryly.

Solo lifted the cup in salute. “Thank you, I did.”

“We should probably head out,” Gaby said, moving away from him. He felt her absence and wondered why, not for the first time, she affected him so distinctly. He watched her snag Solo’s coffee on the way past and the sound of dismay the American uttered made him feel a little better.

 

❧

 

They walked through the cold, all three bundled to the gills. Illya’s arms swung at his sides and occasionally he was aware of Gaby’s hand brushing against his. They walked close together, the crowded sidewalk giving him an excuse. Even though they both wore gloves to protect against the cold, his awareness of her was heightened each time her knuckles bumped his. Occasionally her shoulder, or her entire arm would brush against him, and he let himself enjoy the contact, looking straight ahead as if it was nothing at all.

Then Solo pulled Gaby’s hand into the crook of his arm as they crossed the street and for a moment she was pulled away from him. He tried not to glower as he lengthened his stride to quickly catch up with them, fully intending to keep his place on Gaby’s left no matter what the American might have planned, but when he stepped back up onto the sidewalk Gaby took his elbow of her own accord, her hand fitting so perfectly in the crook of his arm, her strong, slender fingers curling over his bicep through the material of his coat.

Without thought, he brought his other hand up to lay over hers, securing her there and reveling quietly.

 

❧

 

Gaby thumped the stack of papers against the top of her desk, the sound oddly satisfying in the quiet room. Solo looked up from his desk and then gave her a grin.

“Finished?”

“Finally.” She crossed her arms and leaned back against the edge of her desktop.

“You want to come finish up mine for me?” Charm oozing from every pore.

“Not for _anything_.” She often wondered how she was so immune to that charm of his when so many others fell beneath it. But then, she thought as Illya walked into the room, his eyes immediately falling on her and then looking away as if it was wrong of them to do so, she apparently had other weaknesses.

“That’s all right,” Solo said sitting back and plunking his pen into its holder. “Because I am done as well.”

“It is about time,” Illya said with a rumble of superiority as he strode into the room – he’d been finished for hours – but there was a smile at the corner of his lips as he handed Solo one of the cups of coffee he was carrying.

Solo pushed to his feet, accepting the cup and picking up his folders. “I’ll just run these over to Waverly.” He walked over to Gaby and held out his hand. “Take your as well?”

Gaby looked from his hand to the stack of folders before handing them over. “Certainly.”

She waited for him exit the room, and then watched the door for a moment before turning back to Illya. He too was watching the door, standing tall and still, a Styrofoam cup dwarfed by his large hand. She let her eyes take him in for a moment before forcing herself past the zip of awareness being alone with him always brought.

“No coffee for me?” she asked, needing to initiate contact of some kind, belatedly realizing that words weren’t always the safest form… How many times had their words to each other gone wrong?

This time, however, they did not go sour. Illya turned to her with a smile, moving into her space to set the small cup down on her desk. The scent of his aftershave ghosted over her and she watched him arrange the pretty coaster he had given her – to prevent damage to the wood, he’d said – and place the cup on top before setting two cream and one sugar beside it. Her exact requirements.

“For you,” he said, standing back up to his full height.

“Oh,” she said, looking down at it because looking at him when he was standing this close might be too much. “I was only teasing, but thank you.”

“I know, and you are welcome.”

He started to move away and she snapped her head up. “What are your plans for tomorrow night?” she asked quickly before she could talk herself out of it.

He turned back, a small frown hovering at his brow. “I do not have any plans.”

“But,” she took a careful breath. “Isn’t New Years a big holiday for you?”

His frown deepened but she forced herself not to brush off the question, to stay the course.

“At home, when I was a child, yes but…” he shook his head. “It has been some time since I have celebrated. I am usually working.”

“Oh,” she nodded. “That makes sense.” She gave a little nod and he started to turn away. She was going to let him, her stomach giving a little twist at the thought of pressing forward. It was a foolish idea anyhow.

“What about you?” he asked turning back. “Going to a big party?”

His voice rolled over her like warm water and she straightened her shoulders, finding her resolve.

“No, actually, I don’t have any plans yet, but I don’t really want to just stay home by myself.” She stood up straighter and took a step closer to him. “I mean, it’s a whole new year… and this last one has been such a change. Seems wrong to just let it go by without some kind of recognition.”

Illya’s eyes were locked on hers, brightly blue in the office lighting. “This is true,” he responded.

“We could do something _together_ ,” she said. Somehow her voice remained steady, adding no extra weight to her words than if she had been asking him the time.

His frown was back. She felt a tingle of coming rejection shoot through to her fingertips.

“I don’t really like parties.”

“Doesn’t have to be a party. We can just... find somewhere to watch the fireworks… wait for midnight?”

His gaze roved over her face and she was sure she didn’t imagine the stop it made on her lips. “You want that? Not some loud party with fancy clothes and champagne?”

“I hate fancy clothes, Illya,” she said and that smile came back to his mouth, always a little gift. “And who says we can’t have champagne?”

“Who’s having champagne?” Solo asked, sweeping back into the room with an air of excitement. “Because the answer is: the three of us. I have an invite to _the_ party. Penthouse overlooking Central Park, everyone who is _anyone_ is going to be there. Champagne, delicious food, kisses at midnight, the works and you two are coming with me.”

Gaby resisted the urge to growl at him. Illya opened his mouth, probably to object but he never got the chance. Waverly stepped into the room at that moment, his face somber as he looked them over.

“All celebrations are going to be on hold, I’m afraid.” He looked at each of them in turn, drawing them in and assuring he had their attention. “I wanted the three of you to have the holidays but, unfortunately, we have a situation. Agent Fernandez was running an observe and report mission on some suspicious activity down at the docks and she’s missed her last two check-ins. My reports confirm she was discovered and taken.” He looked grim and the weight of what he was saying settled a pall over them. Gaby had worked with Sarah Fernandez several times, she was a good agent and a very nice woman. “I’m going to need you three to go in and get her.”

There was only a second of pause when he had finished.

“Of course,” Illya answered moving immediately to collect a few things from his desk. Gaby was already grabbing up her pad to take notes. Solo simply nodded. The three of them followed Waverly to his office for a full briefing.

 

❧

 

Gaby set down the phone, checking the third car off her list before marking its location on the map. She looked up to see Illya and Solo hunched over schematics for the building they would be infiltrating, Illya’s fingers tracing confident lines over the paper and Solo nodding before adding in his own thoughts, working together in that way they had established over the last year and a half. She listened for a few moments before Illya looked up at her.

“How is it going?”

“Good, I’ve got three routes but I’m hoping for one more.” She tapped the phone. “Sturgis is going to call if he can get another car.”

“Three is enough,” Solo said. “We know our way around here and it’s close enough to HQ to get quick back up.”

“Still,” Gaby said, tapping her pencil.

“She is right, many agents are out of country at his time,” Illya said. “A fourth route would be good.”

“You two have no faith.”

Gaby snorted.

“I have faith,” Illya said. “Faith that something will go wrong.”

Solo huffed but there was a smile there as he bent back over the blueprints.

“That’s why we plan for it,” Gaby said, locking eyes with Illya for a moment. He smiled at her and she felt that stupid little skip in her chest. The phone rang, breaking the moment and he turned back to what Solo was saying. She snatched up the receiver. “Sturgis, tell me some good news.”

 

❧

 

Gaby looked very small in tactical gear. It was something Illya struggled with every time he saw her decked out in the all black attire, gadgets, ammo and weapons strapped to every spare inch of her body. He knew full well she was strong and capable. Knew she had saved Solo and himself more than a few times in tight situations. He knew exactly what she was capable of but he still had an innate desire to protect her, to keep her safe. He repressed that sense as he held the grate and watched her low crawl past him into the underground pipe. She was intelligent and had good instincts. That, along with  the training he and Solo had given her, meant she could handle anything that was thrown at her. He had to have faith in that.

He continued to hold the grate as Solo also crawled past and then carefully slid in himself, following after them. It was a long crawl down the pipe, through a selection of not exactly delightful debris which littered the bottom. Most of the muck was cleared for him by his partners’ bodies up ahead and he cringed at the thought that Gaby, at the front, was taking the brunt of it.

The pipe ended at another grate, and emptied out into a small utility room. Illya and Solo waited in the back as Gaby cut her way through the bars with careful precision, grabbing the loosed section just before it would have fallen to the ground with a bang. Solo released a pent-up breath, and she smiled back at them before sliding out into the room.

Once all three of them were out, they drew weapons, checking ammo and attaching silencers. Stealth and surprise their only real advantage.

There was no need for discussion, they already knew the plan and so far hadn’t run into any need to deviate. Illya stepped into the hall first, Checking each direction, pistol up, followed by Gaby, with Solo taking up the rear to cover their backs.They made their way through the facility, taking out anyone they encountered in almost completely silence.

When they reached the room he and Solo had deemed mostly likely to be holding their missing agent, he waited until both his partners were close and ready before kicking open the door. The door splintered at the latch and Solo and Gaby swept the room with their weapons as light spilled out into the dim hallway.

The room was painted a disconcertingly bright white that burned his eyes. Scanning the room, he counted five men, four with weapons, one in a lab coat. They all turned at the sudden intrusion. A sixth person, a woman bound to a reclining chair moaned quietly. Fernandez.

Chaos broke out as the agents rushed into the room, using the shock of their entry to their advantage. Weapons fire was exchanged in quick bursts. Illya took out two of them, pressing into the room ahead of his partners, before he had to move right to avoid return fire from one of the other guards.

He felt a sharp prick in his right bicep and turned to see that he had missed someone in his original count. A second lab-coated man, with a blunt nose and beady eyes, glared up at him. His fist was wrapped around a large syringe, the needle of which was plunged deep into Illya’s bicep.

Illya’s eyes flared with anger as he stepped away from the man, snapping up his pistol and putting two bullets in his chest before spinning back to check the rest of the room. Solo had the other scientist subdued while the guards lay on the floor, a liter of bodies. Gaby was hovering over Fernandez, checking her for injuries. Assured of the lack of immediate threat to his team, Illya reached up and pulled the syringe from his arm.

“What is that?” Solo’s voice was sharp.

Illya broke off the needle, tossing it away, and put the syringe in his breast pocket. “Nothing good, I am sure,” he said grimly.

“She’s completely out of it,” Gaby said, breaking into the moment. “They’ve got her drugged with something. I don’t like her pulse at all.”

Solo raised a meaningful eyebrow at Illya and then turned to his charge. He held the man’s wrists behind his head and gave them a little shake. “Mind giving us the details? What was in the syringe?”

“I’ll die before I tell you anything,” the guy hissed.

“How predictable.” Solo rolled his eyes. “Well, I don’t have time to carry you out of here and, fortunately for you, I don’t feel like wasting a bullet.” He slammed the butt of his gun into the back of the man’s head and shoved him forward into a heap. Then he stepped over his prone form to help Gaby unfasten the straps around their agent’s wrists. “Grab whatever is on that table over there so the lab can go over it,” he said and Gaby followed the order, shoving things into the duffel she had been carrying on her back.

Illya stepped forward too, ready to help, and felt a rush of dizziness threaten to knock him off balance. He cursed. Whatever they had given him, he had hoped it would take longer to take effect, since it had likely been dosed for the much smaller Fernandez.

“C’mon, Peril,” Solo said. “We can’t carry both of you out of here.”

Illya looked at him and set his jaw. Tugging loose the strap at Fernandez’ ankle he said, “You won’t have to.”

“What are you talking about?” Gaby demanded. “What happened?”

“Peril got dosed.”

“It is nothing,” he insisted, even as his stomach twisted with nausea. What had been in that syringe?

“Illya…”

“I estimate we have one minute before reinforcements arrive, so are were just going to keep talking about this, or shall we get going?”

Solo hefted agent Fernandez over his shoulder into a fireman carry and then adjusted his grip on his weapon. “Your bravado would sound more convincing if you weren’t slurring your words.”

Illya frowned. Had he?

Solo started out the door and Illya waited for Gaby to follow. She looked back at him with a grim set to her mouth, her jaw tight. “You first this time,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument.

He knew she was right and there was no one he trusted more to cover his back than Gaby. He just hated the idea that no one was covering hers.

His first step was unstable but he didn’t go down. He couldn’t, there was no way Gaby could carry him out and he wasn’t going to have them getting caught trying to save him just because he’d been an idiot.

How had he missed the seventh man? He was disgusted with himself and it did nothing to help with the way his stomach was twisting itself into knots.

He managed to follow Solo’s form through the halls, taking all the same turns they had on the way in but in reverse. At the fourth turn, they met resistance and he felt a bullet graze his upper arm before Gaby pushed him down to his knees, firing over his shoulder. The sound pierced his ears, even with the suppressor and it was a second too long before he managed to lift his own gun. Gripping the suddenly heavy weapon with both hands, he fired down the hall into the burred mass of bodies. When the gunfire ceased he felt Gaby tugging on his elbow.

“Up, Illya,” she demanded.

For a moment he wasn’t sure it was possible – he couldn’t seem to feel his legs –  then, pressing his shoulder into the wall, he shoved to his feet and walked forward. Gaby’s hand felt cool on his back and it steadied him. “All right,” she said soothingly, “We’re almost there.”

They reached the utility room before the nausea got the better of him. He managed to move away from Gaby and lean a hand against the wall before he vomited, the sharp contractions of his diaphragm sending shocks of pain up through his spine in a way he knew was anything but normal. He usually ate very little before missions, so there wasn’t much there for his body to reject but it tried anyway.

“Napoleon,” Gaby said and the use of his given name would have given away her concern if her voice hadn’t. Illya tried to shake it off, knowing he was endangering them, endangering _her_ , but his body rebelled against his control and he threw up again, this time nothing but bile.

“I thought it was just a sedative, or truth serum…” Cowboy’s voice cut into the growing fog.  “But he’s having some kind of reaction.”

Illya finally pushed himself up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple but he ignored it. Solo stepped forward, pressing fingers to his neck but he shrugged him off.

“Go,” he said sharply. “I will make it to the car.”

“Illya…” Gaby’s voice was doubtful.

“ _Go_.”

With a grim face, Gaby turned away and crawled through the grate into the pipe. She took Fernandez from Solo and eased her through by the shoulders. Solo pushed the unconscious agent all the way inside the pipe before turning back to look Illya over.

“Twenty feet, Peril Let’s see a little of that machine we all know and love.”

“You get those two out of here,” Illya said, pointing with his chin.

“Gaby and I will get you two _both_ out of here,” Solo rejoined and then disappeared through the grate after Fernandez’ feet.

Illya took several deep breaths, trying to subdue the dizziness. The opening to the pipe seemed to shift and shimmer before him a moment but finally came into focus. He crawled inside, moving forward into the darkness by sheer force of will. One hand in front of the other. One knee and then the next. He simply went forward, that action becoming his single focus until finally, fresh, chilly air hit his face and he crawled out into the open night.

He could see Solo ahead of him, sprinting forward with Fernandez over his shoulders. Gaby was in front of him, leading the way. Illya pushed to his feet, took a deep breath and started forward, managing five steps before his legs disappeared from beneath him and he hit the ground face first.

 

❧

 

Gaby turned back on instinct, checking for Solo and then beyond him to make sure Illya had made it out of the pipe. She saw him rise to his feet and move forward and almost turned away again but slid to a stop, fear slicing through her, as she watched him collapse.

“Solo!” she shouted, bolting back in the direction she’d come, her hard-soled boots digging into the ground as she sprinted passed her American partner. She fell to her knees, sliding the last couple of inches she needed to reach Illya’s side, yanking off her gloves and immediately pressing her fingers to his neck to check his pulse. It was there, too rapid but strong. His skin felt feverish against hers.

Solo was there a moment later, laying Sarah down gently on the ground beside her. The woman moaned and blinked up at her, brown eyes glassy. No hint of recognition.

“Shit,” Solo said under his breath and Gaby felt it like a jab. He didn’t express frustration lightly and it only added to her own worry to hear it now. “When did he get shot?”

Gaby blinked at that and looked down to see Napoleon inspecting Illya’s arm.

“Must have been in the hall, is it bad?” Another jolt of fear twisted in her gut.

“Just a graze.”

“All right.” She took a fortifying breath. “I’ll get Fernandez, you get him.”

Solo looked up at her, raising a skeptical brow.

“I can lift her,” she insisted. She _would_ lift her, _“can”_ had nothing to do with it.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” he rejoined.

She smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood. “He’s only got four inches on you,” she said. “And maybe 9 kilos?”

Solo huffed.

“C’mon, _shatz_ ,” she teased, already reaching for Fernandez, “Show me what all those muscles can do.”

“Funny, Teller,” he returned before moving into a crouch. “You’re a delight as always.” His eyes lifted to hers as he maneuvered Illya into position and she knew her own were an open book.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got him.”

“I know.”

She turned and pulled Sarah’s arm over her shoulder, shifting the woman’s weight across her shoulders before pushing her heels into the ground and lifting with her legs. She struggled to breathe evenly under the woman’s weight, which was at least equal to her own, as she turned back to see Solo hefting Illya.

“The Brookwood is just one block east,” she said, managing a smirk. “And to think, you said we wouldn’t need the fourth option.”

He snorted. “I’d rather hike three blocks further just to avoid riding in that monstrosity,” he said, then adjusted Illya on his shoulders with a grunt. “Okay, never mind. The Brookwood it is.”

Gaby would have laughed but she didn’t have the air.

 

❧

 

“Where is Gaby?” Illya demanded from the backseat and Gaby glanced in the rear-view mirror, relieved to know he was conscious again.

“She’s driving the car, Peril, like always.”

“She is a good driver,” Illya said on a slur.

Gaby turned her eyes back to the road, trying to ignore the zing of pride that lit up inside her.

“Careful now,” Solo said, laughing softly. “She’ll get a big head.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Gaby does not have a big head,” Illya insisted drawing a laugh even from her, despite the worry still gnawing at her gut. His face was still deathly pale and Sarah hadn’t made any noise since she’d strapped her into the bed in the back end of the station wagon.

“She has perfectly proportioned head,” Illya continued, much to Solo’s delight. “Perfectly proportioned _everything_. She is very beautiful.”

Heat rose to her cheeks and she tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her gaze flicking up to catch Solo’s in the mirror again. The crinkles at the corners were very telling. Oh yes, he was enjoying this.

“Solo...” she breathed out in warning. There was nothing she could do however, no way to help Illya other than press her foot a little harder on the gas pedal.

“She is also very strong,” Illya continued, making the blush on her face all the warmer. “And smart... but not because her head is big... she is —” he broke off into a string Russian that she couldn’t understand and Napoleon chuckled as he caught her eye in the mirror.

“You have fortitude of the soul… or something like that,” he explained and she darted her eyes away.

“Illya,” she called back to him. “You’ve been drugged, do you remember?”

“Drugged?” he repeated in disgust. He pushed himself up a little more in the seat. “Right, that _мудак_ with the needle. I did not see him.” He looked around quickly then. “Where is Fernandez? Did we get her out?”

“She’s in the back,” Solo assured him. “Strapped into a medical board to keep her safe.”

Illya twisted back to look and Gaby tried to keep her eyes on the road and not on him. “I can’t feel a pulse,” Illya said sharply.

“She has a pulse,” Solo soothed. “Your fingers are just swollen. I doubt you can feel anything with them.”

Gaby glanced in the mirror long enough to see Illya touch his own face and then reach out to poke at Solo’s cheek. Worry warred with humor as she forced her eyes back to the road.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” she heard Solo say.  

“Why does everything hurt?” Illya asked, his voice was low and followed by a moan.

“You are having a reaction to whatever they gave you.”

“Drugs are terrible but can be very useful,” Illya mumbled and then he rumbled off another long strand of Russian she had no hope of deciphering. When she caught Solo’s eye in the mirror she found the smile had fallen right off his face.

“What did he say?”

Solo’s look was ominous. “Something that would probably get him killed if the Kremlin ever found out.”

She jolted. Illya was still talking, a low rumble of words that almost blended in with the roar of the engine.

“We can’t take him to HQ.” She had no problem airing all of the Soviet Union’s secrets but not at Illya’s expense. _Never_.

She saw his jaw flex in the shifting light. “You’re right, but… Gaby, the shot I gave him seems to have slowed things down but he needs medical attention.”

She chewed at her lip, taking another corner at breakneck speed, dodging into oncoming traffic long enough to get around a slow car.

“Waverly.” Her tone was clipped as she maneuvered them back into their proper lane.

“Waverly.”

Gaby’s apartment was the quickest to get to and she pulled around the last block, and drifted the Brookwood over the icy asphalt and into the space in front of a fire hydrant, bumping the white walled tires against the curb.

“Nice job,” Solo commented from behind her but she didn’t have the head space to decide if he was being sarcastic or not.

The jolt seemed to pull Illya from his stream of Russian and he sat up again, looking around. “Where are we?”

She scrambled out into the snow, reaching immediately for his door. When she pulled it open he looked up at her, blue eyes wide and pale in the street light and smiled.

“Gaby,” he said very reverently. She ignored the little spike in her blood and reached for him.

“C’mon, _Liebste_ ,” she murmured, pulling one of his arms over her shoulder to help him from the car. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

Leaving Fernandez in the car was not their favorite choice but there was no way Gaby could get Illya upstairs on her own. It took both of them to manage it, Illya missing every third step. The three flights to her flat had never seemed longer.

On the landing outside her door, Illya buried his nose in her hair and his breath was hot against her scalp as he exhaled. “You smell very nice,” he said as she tried to find her keys.

Solo chuckled as he pulled Illya’s weight more fully onto himself. Illya sighed and tried to look at the other man, going a little cross eyed because they were so close. “Solo, you also smell good. You have decent taste in aftershave.”

“Definitely a truth serum,” Solo said raising his eyebrows as he looked past Illya to Gaby.

Illya frowned and looked away.

Gaby shook her head and shoved a key into the lock, turning the bolt with a sigh of relief.

Once inside, Solo dragged Illya across the room and swung him onto Gaby’s little couch. It creaked at his weight, the legs sliding slightly over her hardwood floor.

“I’ll take Fernandez in and get Waverly,” Solo said. He bent over and started searching Illya’s pockets. Illya tried to bat his hands away and Solo sighed in frustration. “I need the syringe, Peril.”

“Oh,” Illya frowned. “Right, the drugs.” He tried for the pocket on his own but his swollen fingers wouldn’t let him get a proper hold on the button. He let out a few choice swears, Russian words Gaby _did_ understand, and tore at the material in frustration.

“It’s all right, Peril,” Solo said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “I’ve got it.” He opened the pocket and retrieved the syringe, sliding it into a little baggie from his own pocket.

At the door he stopped and turned back to Gaby. “Are you sure you’re okay with him?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it, but...” she looked back at Illya, took in his pale complexion and the thick red welt running from his chin down into the collar of his turtleneck. “Hurry.”

With a nod, Solo was gone and she focused her attention on Illya. He was laying back against her sofa, eyes closed, brow furrowed. He was still wearing the knit cap and tactical vest with ammo and weapons. A long, wicked looking knife was strapped across his torso.

She was still decked out in her own tactical gear and she decided to start there, stripping off her vest, checking her weapons and putting them aside. Ridding herself of the armor and buckles and gadgets until she was in her own turtleneck and trousers, clothing which, on its own, was soft and easy to move in. At the moment however, they clung to her, wet and grimy from her crawl through the pipe. She pulled the shirt out from her breasts, hearing a repulsive sucking sound as it came away from her skin. When she looked up, Illya was watching her.

“How do you feel?” she asked, forgetting her disgust.

He blinked, the motion slow. “Like I am underwater,” he said. “Or quicksand. Like I am not in control.”

“It’s okay,” she said, stepping forward. She gave in to the urge to touch him, pushing off his cap and running her fingers through his damp hair. He closed his eyes again at her touch. “Let’s get some of this gear off you and then I need to check your arm.”

He looked down at himself and his hands went to the buckles at his chest but she brushed them aside, doing it herself. She treated each item with the care she knew he would give them, removing layer by layer until his top half, at least, was unfettered. She could hear him breathing, could feel him watching her, but she ignored it, trying to remain practical.

“Gaby,” he said.

“Hmm?” She didn’t look up, focused on untying the laces of his boots and pulling them from his feet. She set them aside and moved on to the knife strapped to his left ankle. There was one on each. She slid them inside his boots.

“Gaby,” he repeated. He sounded hoarse, his voice even deeper than usual and she looked up, worried some new reaction was presenting itself. His eyes were clear, lips still pink, though a little pale.

“Yes, Illya?”

He reached out a hand to touch her cheek and then frowned when he realized he was still wearing a glove. Without a second thought, she reached up to take his hand, pulling the glove carefully from his fingers.

“I think I was meant to find you,” he said then and she stilled.

“What?”

“I am not good for you, I know that,” he continued and his fingers brushed over the back of her hand. “Not good enough for you. I am...” he let out a long, slow breath. “I am broken but… I love you anyway.”

Her heart misfired, tripping over several beats before accelerating wildly, stealing her breath.

“I know you don’t want that…” he was saying. “I know but —” She pressed her fingers over his lips to stop him, bowing her head.

“I need to get something to clean the wound in your arm,” she said before quickly pushing to her feet. She rushed into her small kitchen, gathering several clean washcloths from her drawer with shaking fingers. There was a small first aid kit beneath her sink but as she went to retrieve it she had to stop, setting her hands on the edge of her sink and holding on for a moment.

 _It’s the drugs_ , she reminded herself, _he doesn’t know what he’s saying…_

 _But it’s not a lie_ , a traitorous part of her mind offered and she shook her head. She didn’t want… not like _this_. It felt like she had stolen something from him.

Pulling herself together she bent down and grabbed the kit from beneath the sink and added it to the pile in her arms, then headed back into the living room with determined strides.

She found Illya with his shirt off, trying to inspect his own wound. She slowed as she rounded the couch, her gaze sliding over his naked torso. Concern for his health had been overriding the affect his nearness usually had on her but not completely and that primal, very female part of her couldn’t seem to fully ignore the plane of his pectorals, or the bulge of his deltoid, even though it was smeared with his.

“Stop that,” she admonished, crouching down in front of him. “You’ll make it start bleeding again.”

“Bleeding is good,” he grunted. “Keeps it clean.”

“Let me,” she said, pushing his hands away. Curling her fingers around the back of his arm, she pulling it toward her. The rest of him came with it. He smelled, as did she, of the gunk they had climbed through to get into the building and she crinkled her nose. It was a good reminder of what was happening and she embraced it. She took the cloth and carefully wiped the skin around the wound. Solo had been right, it wasn’t very deep but it had been steadily seeping blood and the open, sticky skin had collected bits of his shirt and other debris.

He hissed when she had to wipe inside the actual wound and she winced. “Sorry.”

“Is all right,” he said and she felt his breath on the side of her face. He was leaning in close, watching her work… or so she thought, but then his nose pressed to her temple, nudging gently against her. He slid it along her hairline and she took a deep breath to try to keep her heart rate in check.

“Illya, sit back so I can focus,” she ordered, her voice rough. He yanked his head back and almost pulled his arm from her grasp. She gripped it tighter, holding him there.

“I’m sorry,” he said but she shook her head.

“It’s fine, Illya,” she breathed, “Just hold still so I can disinfect it.”

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “I have always thought so. I am not just saying that because I want you.”

She closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly as she held the iodine in one hand and cotton in the other. Give her Soviet secrets, _that_ she could protect him from. She couldn’t protect him from _this_. If he remembered any of this in the morning, he was going to hate himself.

Maybe hate her too…

“Give your arm back, please,” she said finally, and he did so, leaning forward to offer her the injury. She wiped the dark yellow solution over his skin with careful attention, making sure it was saturated before cleaning up any drips that ran down his arm. She spared little thought for her couch beneath him with everything else on her mind. She covered the raw, open skin with gauze, taping it down with the medical tape from her kit. “There,” she said, sitting back on her heels. “All finished.”

Illy looked down at his arm and took in her handiwork. It was not quite as neatly done as his work usually was, she knew, but he nodded with approval and then looked back at her. His gaze was an intent, vivid blue that seem to be staring into her, seeing everything.

“I’ll go get you a drink of water!” she scrambled to her feet and hurried away. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, she turned on the water cursing herself and the entire situation. Nervously, she glanced up at her kitchen clock. She was stunned to realize that it was a quarter past midnight. It was the New Year and she hadn’t even noticed.

She heard the creak of her floor boards and turned to find Illya in the kitchen with her. He weaved unsteadily as he entered and leaned forward onto the countertop to brace himself.

“What are you doing?” she asked snapping off the faucet.

He frowned. “I wanted to be where you were,” he said simply. He reached out to touch her, slowly running his hand over her shoulder and then down her back.

She took a deep breath. “Illya, you shouldn’t be standing. If you fall you could hurt yourself, and I won’t be able to pick you up.”

“I won’t fall.”

“You might,” she reminded. “Here.” She held out the glass and he accepted it, taking a small drink at first and then a longer one, swishing it around in his mouth and then spitting it into the sink.

The action set him off balance and Gaby quickly braced her hands on his chest to keep him from tipping too far. _As if he wouldn’t simply take me down with him,_ she mentally scolded.

“Maybe you are right,” he mumbled closing his eyes against, what she assumed was, a wave of dizziness.

“Of course I’m right,” she said and then smirked up at him, only belatedly realizing just how close he was. She stared at the column of his throat, darkened with a day’s stubble. Her hands were pressed to his naked chest, hot fevered skin beneath crisp, golden hair.

He looked down at her, one of his hands coming up to cup her cheek and for once his touch wasn’t cool. It was hot, scorching, and she inhaled sharply. His gaze was on her mouth, fixed, certain, and for the briefest moment she wasn’t sure she could break from it. His presence pulled at her, dragging her in like gravity. The heat of the thumb stroking her cheek reminded her that this was the wrong time for such thoughts and she pushed against his chest.

“Illya, _no_.”

The effect of the word on him was kindred to a slap and he yanked away from her, stumbling backward but thankfully catching himself on the kitchen door frame. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m…”

She took the two steps needed to reach him on her tiptoes, already reaching for his face. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s all right.” He shook his head again and she dropped hers to his chest, pressing into him, cursing her uselessness. When she looked up again she forced herself to be steady. “Illya, you were drugged. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

He exhaled slowly out of his nose, watching her cautiously and she reached up to push sweat damp hair off his forehead.

“Gott — you’re burning up.” She stepped away from him. “I think we need to get you lying down.”  She looked from where they were standing, across the living room to the short hall that would lead to her only bedroom. “Can you walk?”

He pushed up off the wall and she took another step back. She watched him sway for a moment, hoping he wouldn’t fall. Then he nodded and she took his arm, pulling it over her shoulder even though she would be hopeless to him as a crutch. Slowly, she weaved him around her furniture and down the hall. He stopped suddenly at her bedroom door, the action yanking her backward. She stepped away from him, making sure he was steady first, and reached for the light switch.

“This is your bedroom.”

“Yep,” she answered, moving to pull back the covers. Her quilt was a mix of reds, pinks and burgundies, her sheets a soft cream. Not at all a bed for a man and some small part of her smiled at the idea of him in it. “It’s the only one I’ve got.” Smoothing her hands over the sheets she looked up at him. “C’mon.”

He looked down at himself and she followed his gaze. His black pants were covered with muck and he was still wearing his hip holster. She straightened up, taking a deep breath to settle herself. She would have to undress him. It was only practical but the close call in the kitchen had her worried. “We’ll have to get you out of that gear,” she said somewhat stiffly.

Illya blinked and then reached down for the buckle on his holster. He fumbled with it for a moment before Gaby reached him. She slid her fingers beneath his and snapped the buckles free. Looping the holster over her shoulder she set her jaw and reached for the button on his trousers. He inhaled sharply as the backs of her fingers slid against his skin, and swayed slightly on his feet but she ignored it, finishing with the button and zip with quick, determined efficiency. She shoved the material down his legs in one, unceremonious movement, leaving him in a pair of very simple, blue and white striped boxer shorts and black socks. She tried not to spend too much time looking at his long, naked legs as she crouched down to help him step out of them, but she couldn’t help but notice there were welts there as well, pink and raised on his pale skin.

She hopped to her feet and set the holster on her dressed before looping his arm over her shoulders again. He followed her this time, hesitating only slightly before climbing onto the mattress. He barely fit in the bed, she realized, his feet sticking out past the edge of the mattress as he slowly sank back onto the pillows, his eyes on her the entire time.

“There,” she said, standing up and putting her hands on her hips. She huffed out a breath. “Is that better?” she asked but he just stared up at her. His vulnerability struck her even more deeply this time, lying practically naked before her, his defenses stripped both internally and externally. It tugged at her heart, her chest constricting, and she reached for her quilts, pulling them gently over him and tucking them carefully around his body. She paused at his shoulder, taking in the welt there. She stopped short of actually touching it, tracing its outline in the air just above.

“Does it hurt?”

“It itches,” he said and reached up to scratch at it, she grabbed his hand.

“Stop.”

He made a face and she realized she had only made him more aware of them by pointing them out. “I’ve got something that might help,” she said softly, still holding his wrist. She started to pull away but he turned his hand in hers, taking hold of her.

“Don’t leave.”

Her gaze softened. “I’m not going far,” she assured. “I’m just going to get some cream from the bathroom.”

His grip tightened for a brief second and then he released her.  Instinctively, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his brow, tensing the moment she realized what she was doing. He relaxed beneath the weight of her kiss and she relaxed too, giving him a soft smile as she withdrew. “I promise I’ll come right back.”

A knock at the front door had her diverting course before she was even out into the hallway. She turned back at the sound of Illya rustling in the bed, trying to get up. She held up a hand for him to stay where he was. “That’s probably Waverly. You stay.”

“It might not be,” he grunted.

Gaby sighed and walked back into the room, retrieving the small pistol she kept in her top dresser drawer. She held it up for him to see before checking the clip and chamber.

“I know how to take care of myself, Illya.”

He’d started shaking a little and his teeth clicked together when he answered. “I know but… I could not stand it if anything happened to you.”

Gaby stilled in the doorway, looking back at him for too long. The knock at the door came a second time. “I feel the same way,” she said finally. “So please, stay in the bed.”

Another knock sounded and she knew, beyond a doubt, it was Waverly, the little rap-rap-rap, of knuckles on her wooden door so precisely him. Still, she checked the little camera Illya had rigged for her a year ago before opening the door.

Her boss, mentor and friend stood on her landing in nothing but his shirtsleeves and a heavy coat. His tie was gone, his top two buttons undone, making him look a little more harried than usual. He held a black duffel bag in one hand and his scarf in the other.

“Hello, Teller,” he said, giving her a once over. “Good to see you well. I hear I have a grumpy, Russian patient to attend to.”

Gaby stepped back from the door to let him enter and immediately led him back to her room. “He’s actually not been that grumpy —” Gaby said as she turned into the doorway. “Illya!”

He was turned on his side in her bed, shaking enough to quake her bed frame. She ran to him, Waverly right behind her. Taking hold of one of his hands, still so warm, she tried to pull it close but the shivering had his muscles drawn tight. “What’s happening?”

“ _Холодно_ ,” he whispered. _Cold_ , but he was burning up.

Waverly set a fatherly hand on Illya’s forehead. “I’d say it’s the fever,” he said gently. “Don’t worry, we’ll get him set to rights, Gaby.”

“Kuryakin,” Waverly said then and Illya blinked up at him. When recognition dawned, he tried to sit up but Waverly laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. “No, no, you just stay where you are. This is no time to stand on ceremony.”

Illya responded in Russian but Gaby could only recognize a few snatches of words, home and some reference to himself. Waverly answered in Russian as well and she watched Illya relax. Absently, she began brushing back the hair on his forehead and then stroking her fingers at his temples, trying to sooth him. He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned into her touch. She watched Waverly take out several syringes and looked away. She wasn’t a big fan of needles.

Waverly was still speaking Russian as he assembled the meds, she assumed explaining what he was doing for Illya’s benefit. He looked to her, his blue eyes calm. “Antihistamine, paracetamol,” he said. “Our lab had seen the drug before, so we have the counter agent but I hesitate to give it to him in this state. It could just aggravate his reaction.”

He readied the first syringe and she took a deep breath.

“Gaby, if you could,” Waverly asked, gesturing to Illya’s arm.

She looked down to see Illya was still trembling viciously, then nodded and leaned forward, wrapping her body around his arm to try and hold it still. As she did so, she felt the crusty, dried muck on the front of her shirt scratch against her skin and winced.

At the first needle sliding deep into his skin, Illya pressed his face into her side. “Don’t look,” he said gruffly, because he knew about her squeamishness. She could feel his hot breath through the knit of her sweater and closed her eyes, both to block out the needles and to keep her own breathing steady.

When Waverly had finished, Gaby tried to pull back but Illya held onto her, wrapping both arms around her torso, his body still shaking. Her gaze flicked to Waverly, embarrassed to find him watching.

“Illya, let go please,” she said, taking hold of his wrists and pulling gently. He responded immediately, releasing her and falling back against the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Are you angry with me?”

Gaby blinked, darted another look at Waverly. “No, I’m not angry.”

“I should have seen that other man,” he said darkly. “It was foolish mistake.”

“Illya, Solo and I didn’t see him either. We should have had your back.”

“I could have gotten you killed,” he said, reaching up and running his fingers over her jaw. “It is one more reason why I should not be allowed to love you.”

Gaby bent forward and pressed her hand to his mouth. “The drug remember? You’ll say more than you want to.”

She glanced at Waverly again and he ducked his head, closing up his bag and setting it aside.

“I seem to have forgotten to hang up my coat. It’s terribly in the way,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He gave Gaby a soft look and then left the room. When he was gone, she turned back to Illya. His blue eyes stared back at her, wide and concerned. She pulled her hand away, laying it against his chest instead. She tapped her fingers there for a moment, unsure.

“Illya, everyone makes mistakes. It doesn’t mean... people will love them any less.”

“Gaby,” he murmured but Waverly chose that moment to return, sans heavy coat, and interrupted him.

“It seems to me that Miss Teller could use a change of clothing and a good scrub. From what I understand you three crawled through and old storm drain? She looks a fright and, quite frankly, smells incredibly _rank_.” He gave her a half wink as he said the words and she rolled her eyes.

“Gaby never looks terrible,” Illya said, through a shiver.

This time the smirk was obvious on Waverly’s face, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that charming way of his. “Well, to each his own I suppose.”

Gaby huffed and resisted the urge to smack him.

“I will leave so you can change,” Illya said and Gaby and Waverly both stepped forward with their hands out to stop him from standing.

“I’ll change in the bathroom,” she assured him. “You stay in bed.”

“Also, I’ve brought a pair of pajamas for you from the infirmary, Kuryakin,” Waverly added. “While Gaby showers, let’s see if we can’t get you into them.”  

Illya nodded. This time when he tried to sit up, Gaby moved to help him but Waverly stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “I think I can handle things from here. You go take care of yourself now.”

She hesitated, looking into those wise eyes, eyes that had already convinced her to take far greater risks than this one, and gave a quick nod, pulling away. Yanking open a couple of drawers, she quickly gathered what she needed and left the room, forcing herself not to look back as she did so.

 

❧

 

In the bathroom, Gaby got her first good look at her appearance. The mirror over her sink revealed a pale face, with dark circles under the eyes and a medusa like halo of hair around her head. The tight French braid she had fashioned her hair into for the mission had come loose on one side, falling against her cheek. To top it all off, three streaks of mud ran over her cheek and neck like some creature from the deep had been trying to drag her down to its lair.

She closed her eyes against the image and started unraveling the braid with trembling fingers. She suddenly felt so much more tired.

No wonder Waverly had said she looked terrible.

 _But Illya had still wanted to kiss you_ , that little traitor voice inside her offered up. She made a face and ignored it. _Drugs_ , she reminded herself, _it’s just the drugs_.

With the ruined clothing in a pile at her feet, Gaby hesitated before starting the shower. She could just wash her face and change, go right back to Illya’s side. She didn’t like leaving him alone but  — he was with Waverly.

As the thought settled inside her, she realized how much she trusted truly trusted the older man. She’d been trusting him with her life and no shortage of secrets since he’d first appeared in her world. She sighed. Yes, she could trust him with Illya too. She turned on the shower and wiggled her fingers under the spray as she waited for it to get warm.

❧

 

Fifteen minutes later she stepped out into the hall feeling human again and found Waverly waiting in her living room with a steaming mug of tea. She walked out, casting a quick glance back at the bedroom door first.

“He’s fine, I assure you,” he said setting the mug into her hands. “Dozed off a few minutes ago.”

She nodded, wrapping her hands around the ceramic and pulling it in close. She drew in a breath, taking in the scent of chamomile, lavender and lemon balm. He must have brought it with him because it wasn’t any tea she had in her cupboards. The smell alone seemed to glide along her jangled nerves, bringing a sense of calm. She took a tentative sip and found just the right amount of sweetness.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He took a seat in her overstuffed armchair, still managing to look every bit the aristocrat even with the undone buttons and the late hour.

She looked around the room, realizing something for the first time. “Where’s Solo?”

“After he gave a quick report, I had him go home to rest. Not much he can do here, after all.” He sat back, crossing an ankle over his knee. “Now, how are _you_ doing?”

Gaby blinked at him. “I’m fine,” she answered. “I wasn’t injured. How is Fernandez?”

His lips pulled into a thin line. “Not well, I’m afraid, but she has a good chance, thanks to you three.”

The scarcely suppressed worry inside her doubled up again, undoing the tea’s good work. “Sarah,” she said softly before taking her own seat. She popped back up after only a second. “The drug they gave Illya!”

Waverly reached out and took her hand pulling her back down to her seat. “One dose, Gaby and a dose intended for a much smaller person. Sarah had been under their ministrations for hours. I have already told you, Kuryakin will be fine, aside from the allergic reaction and a little too much truth telling.” He gave her a small, knowing smile and settled back into his seat.

“I don’t think it’s very funny,” she said, turning her cup in her hands. She took a moment to drink from it, the warm liquid doing little to soothe her now. “Illya is very private, if he remembers any of this he’s going to be…”

“Yes,” Waverly nodded. “But he will also find some solace in how well his partners protected him.”

She turned her gaze on him. She wasn’t so sure about that.

“But maybe you’re worried he’s said things he wouldn’t want you to know?” He took a sip from his own cup. “Or are you more worried that it isn’t the truth at all?”

She turned away, fussing with a crease in the line of her dressing gown, thumbing a drip from the rim of her mug.

“Which reminds me…” At his change of tone, she looked up again, gaze darting to his face. “This must be putting quite the kink in your little plan. How did Agnes treat you?”

Gaby rolled her eyes. “Leave it to you to bring that up now.”

He made a little face. “I think it’s rather relevant.”

“I’m not so sure, you don’t know him like I do…” she pushed to her feet, setting her tea aside as she started to pace. “When this is over, he’s going to start throwing up walls between us faster than —”

“The Berlin Wall?”

She turned to him a traitorous smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “That isn’t funny. Maybe… maybe it’s better like this. We… are… partners, _coworkers_ , if things go wrong…”

“You think that can’t happen anyway?”

She frowned. “What?”

“You think that things can’t go bitter between the two of you now, with everything remaining unspoken?” Waverly stood to his feet and brought her the tea, pressing the cooling mug back into her hand. “I’ve known since Rome that this thing was brewing between you two. No, it’s not _ideal_ , but… well maybe I’m just an old romantic, but it could turn out to be the best thing that could happen.”

“It’s impossible is what it is,” she returned sharply when his words made her hope spike a little too high.

“So is a multinational, inter-political intelligence agency, and yet…” he gave her one of those disarming smiles of his, the one that gave Solo a run for his money. “Here we are.”

She let out a long, slow breath. She was afraid to admit it, but that was what that little voice inside her kept trying to say. All her experience, all her cynicism, all her well-earned distrust told her to keep her distance, protect herself, but there was something there… with Illya. She couldn’t define it, or lay it out in any way that made any sense at all but… it was like he had said… like she was _meant_ to find him.

“He should be well out of the drug’s influence by the time the sun is up,” Waverly said, scooping his heavy coat up from her coat rack. “I’ve left some supplies in case of a relapse. Watch his breathing, but I think we are out of the woods and you can proceed with your plan. If you still want to.”

He was leaving. The thought brought a swell of panic along with a small sense of relief. Her only response, however, was to nod.

“Don’t worry about coming into HQ, we can do the debriefing another day. I’ll send word if there is any change in Fernandez.”

“Thank you,” she said.

She walked him to the door, holding it for him as he stepped out into the hallway.

“Oh, and by the way,Gaby,” he said turning back with a raised hand and a fond smile. “Happy New Year.”

A huff of a laugh escaped her and she shook her head before giving him a smile in return. “Happy New Year, Alex.”

She could hear the rattling of the bed frame before she even reached the bedroom door. Illya was shaking again, curled in on himself like an oversized child. She rushed to his side, crouching down to get a good look at his face. He was frowning but his lips were pink and his face was less pale than before she’d had her shower. He was dressed in some dark blue, flannel pajamas, with white piping on the trim, and when he looked at her the color seemed to make the blue of his eyes even more striking.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, feeling his forehead again on instinct. He didn’t feel as hot but maybe she should try to take his temperature.

“Just so cold,” he said through chattering teeth.

“I’ll get more blankets,” she said, straightening up but one of his hands shot out from under the covers, taking hold of her fingers.

“Don’t go.”

His hand still felt warm and she closed her fingers around it for a moment.

“Illya,” she started, although she had no idea what was going to follow it.

“Just stay with me,” he asked quietly and she surrendered. To her desire to be close to him, to comfort him and  to assure herself he was truly all right.

She took hold of the corner of the quilt and lifted it up. “Move over.”

He blinked up at her a few times and then did as she asked, helping to hold open the blankets for her as he did so. She climbed in, sliding her legs down alongside his legs, her body alongside his until her head could rest on the pillow.

She turned so she was facing him. He looked so uncertain and miserable. Looking him over, Gaby made a decision within herself and opened her arms to him. One more surrender. There was a brief moment of hesitation, his gaze skirting over her, then with an exhale of relief, he came to her, sliding his arms around her and pulling her fully against him.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and she felt the weight of his head on her shoulder, his breath on her skin, the warmth of him all around her. She closed her arms around him, one hand on his back, the other skimming through his hair.

He didn’t try to kiss her, as she’d half expected, instead he simply settled down in her embrace, his body no longer shaking. She held very still and felt him slowly relax, felt his grip around her loosen ever so slightly as he finally drifted off into a deep sleep.

She closed her eyes as she held him, felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing. She thought of the package, wrapped neatly in her cupboard, thought of the days and weeks she had spent agonizing over her decision, thought of his words to her only an hour ago and what it might mean in the morning light.

She was sure she wasn’t going to sleep.

 

❧

 

He was very warm. That was the thought that came to his mind as it made its first brush with wakefulness.

There was a cool winter light behind his eyelids, a soft scent of citrus and honey surrounding him and he was very, very warm.

The smell reminded him of Gaby.

He opened his eyes and realized why: the woman herself was right beside him. Her head was pillowed on his arm, one hand curled under her chin, the other flung over his side, holding him. Her entire body was tucked into the curve of his body, one of her legs hooked over his thigh. He blinked, his heart rate picking up as he took in the cascade of her dark hair as it fell over his arm, ther plush, parted lips and the sweep of her lashes against her cheek. He felt like his heart was seizing up in his chest, his feelings for her overwhelming him.

Then he frowned. How did she get here? What was going on? He looked around and realized it wasn’t _she_ who was _here_ , she wasn’t in his apartment, he was in _hers_ . Her apartment, her bed, _her._

What had happened last night? They’d had a mission… That man with the needle. He closed his eyes as the memory came back. He’d been so careless, the white of the room had disorientated him just enough that he had failed to take note of the man in the corner and he’d endangered all their lives.

Wait, had they completed the mission? He remembered crawling out of the pipe… remembered the car… Fernandez in the back of the station wagon… talking to Solo about the drugs, the _secrets_ … his eyes flew open as memories came rushing back. His entire body went stiff and he started to sit up but a hand on his side, fisting in his pajamas, stopped him. He looked down to see Gaby awake, staring up at him.

“It’s okay, Illya,” she said quietly. “Everything's all right.”

“What happened, how did I get here?”

“You were injected with some kind of truth serum,” she said, her hand smoothed down over his side and the action had a calming effect he didn’t want to admit to. “Do you remember?”

He nodded, “The KGB…”

“Won’t know anything you said,” she pushed up onto her elbow so that she was more level with him. “ _No one_ will. That’s why we brought you here instead of the infirmary. We didn’t want anyone else to hear anything.”

“You are not going to —”

She glared and shoved against his chest. “Of course not! We’re your partners, Illya!”

He let out a shaking breath. She was looking at him with banked fury and he realized that, deep down, he trusted her, he trusted _both of them_ , and he nodded.

“What else...” His mind ran over the rest of the events from the evening. Gaby in bed with him couldn’t possible have just been a result of her protecting his secrets. He remembered looking up at her as she’d pulled off her gear, her hair wild, mud streaked on her face. He remembered wanting to wipe it away for her.

_I think I was meant to find you…_

_I am broken but I love you anyway…_

He heard his own voice saying the words, remembered the way they had seemed to push their way out of him, demanding to be said. He remembered her eyes going wide. The rest of the evening came back in a rush and he went very still.

He needed to leave. He had made a ridiculous fool of himself with the last person he could stand the thought of seeing him as a fool. He started to pull away from her but her hand tightened, twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

“Do you remember everything?” she asked, not letting him go.

Her dark eyes drilled into him and he couldn’t look away as he nodded. He looked for the pity he was expecting — dismissal, rejection — but her gaze was steady, holding his for a long beat.

“Don’t go.”

He remembered saying those exact words to her last night and the thought made him hold his breath.

“Stay with me.”

He closed his eyes and nodded once more because he didn’t seem capable of words.

“I’m going to be right back,” she said, still not releasing him. “Wait for me.” She held his gaze a beat longer and then started to slide away. The thought instigated a renewed bout of panic but he stopped himself from moving. “I mean it, Illya,” she said lifting the hand that had been holding on to him and pointing a finger of warning. “If you leave this bed I will find a way to make you regret it.”

Her dark eyes were still on him as she slipped from the bed and he watched until she was out the door. When she had disappeared, his breathing restarted, his pulse stuttering as his brain ran over _everything_ that had happened the night before, one more time in horrific detail, just in case he had missed something the first time.

He’d tried to kiss her in the kitchen but she’d pushed him away.

He’d tried to _kiss_ her…

He battled with himself for several moments because he knew she would keep her word and make him pay, but the agony of mortification was almost enough to override even his fear of her retribution.  His heart was pounding, the blood rushing in his ears. It was almost enough to make him risk her wrath. It would be better than her rejection…

Adrenaline was pumping through him and his leg twitched, his body making an unconscious move toward the side of the bed.

Gaby chose that moment to appear around the doorway and he froze, her glare locking him in place. She looked like she knew exactly what was going on inside his head. He took a deep breath and tried to relax as she started toward him, a square package clutched to her chest.

She climbed back onto the bed and sat across from him, settling back on her heels, the package resting in her lap. She looked down at it, her fingers playing along the edge, a tell of uncertainty. Then she picked it up and thrust it toward him.

He just stared at it.

“Happy New Year,” she said, tilting it as if to make him take notice of it. He just looked from it to her and back again, lost between this new development and all the worries that were banging around inside his skull.

“This is for you, take it!” she insisted.

There was an edge to her voice but even his spinning mind was sure it wasn’t entirely anger.

Slowly, he accepted it, feeling the weight of it in his hands. There was a rattle of something loose inside as he shifted it to his lap. “I don’t understand.”

“They celebrate New Year’s instead of Christmas in the Soviet Union, right?” she said, shrugging. “I thought I would… that it would be nice if…” she rolled her eyes and looked away, crossing her arms. “Just _open_ it.”

He looked down at the sedate but decorative paper. The corners were folded very precisely, something that took attention and patience, something he knew Gaby only gave to the things that were most important to her. Even as that idea settled warmly into his chest, a little voice told him she had probably just had it professionally done. He slid a finger under the edge and prised open the paper with care, a habit he had never gotten rid of. He heard her huff but when he looked up she only looked nervous, not impatient.

When he’d unfolded the paper, he looked down at the chessboard in awe, running careful, studied fingers over it. It was beautiful workmanship, clearly handmade. The inlay along the edges was simple but attractive, drawing the eye around the space, showing off the skill of the craftsman. Ornate but not overly so. Smooth and warm to the touch.

The squares however, were not what he was used to. The contrast wasn’t as great as with most chessboards, and he immediately recognized that the darker of the squares was olive. The other seemed to be of beech or some other pale wood. He looked up at her, feeling the weight of such a thoughtful gift.

“It is lovely.”

She took in a breath and then reached over, setting a fingertip on one of the squares. “This is Russian olive wood,” she said quietly, then slid her finger to one of the lighter squares. “And this is beech wood from Germany.” She drew her hand back, tucking it into her lap.

Russian wood and German wood, side by side in little squares, arranged in decorative lines about the edges. In a chessboard. A game of skill, of forethought, of strategy... On the one hand, they opposed each other and yet, they also worked together, complimenting each other, enhancing each other.

He swallowed. “They go well together.”

“I think so too.”

He looked up, eyes searching her face, finding it open, searching him right back.

“When did you do this?”

“That is where I went the other day when I said I was going for coffee. Solo just invited himself along.”

“The day I yelled.”

“It’s okay,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting. “I yelled back.”

“Gaby —” He didn’t know what to say, where to begin. There was too much.

“I wanted you to see it, to know that…” she pushed her hair behind her ears and then looked right at him. He was pulled into that gaze, locked into her orbit, he had been from the moment he’d met her. “I had this _planned_ , it has nothing to do with what happened last night.”

He flinched, fought the urge to pull away. She must’ve seen it. Maybe she saw everything, he didn’t know, but she grabbed onto him, keeping him in place.

“I love you, Illya,” she said in a rush. “I know it might seem like the most impossible idea, but I was meant to find you too.”

The sharp inhale through his nose was audible in the suddenly silent room. He leaned away, studying her face, her features. She wasn’t lying, or teasing… she wouldn’t, he _knew_ she wouldn’t play that sort of game but… it couldn’t be _real_. Could it?

“So, if you meant it,” she continued. “And it wasn’t the drugs or the reaction making you say things you didn’t mean then, please, tell me now, I—” she swallowed and he could feel her start to withdraw.  

“No!” he said, immediately reaching out to keep her from leaving, his hands closing over her upper arms, mirroring her.

“No?” she repeated, her mouth turning down, eyes widening.

“No,” he stumbled. “ _Yes_.”

“Yes?” she asked, a full frown marring her lovely brow.

He squeezed his eyes shut and took a slow, deep breath. “ _No_ , it wasn’t the drugs making me say things I don’t mean,” he said slowly then opened his eyes, locking onto hers. “And _yes_ , I do love you. I never thought —”  His words were cut off when she leaned forward and kissed him.

Gaby’s lips were warm and soft and perfect. It was all he could do to keep his head and kiss her back. He used his hold on her arms pull her in, increasing the contact and she made a soft little sound in the back of her throat that made him go hot all over.

The chess set fell from his lap as he shifted, his hands sliding from her shoulders, one combing fingers into her soft, dark hair, the other spanning the small of her back. He angled her head so he could deepen the kiss, and pulled her even closer. Her mouth opened under his and his tongue delved inside, licking against hers, tasting her. Her hands scrabbled at the back of his head, gripping his hair as she kissed him back.

“It’s the drugs,” he said pulling away just enough to grab a breath.

“What?” she demanded, still too close for him to bring her face into focus.

“I am having the most _impossible_ dream,” he said.

She pulled back then, her hands still in his hair. She was up on her knees and she could almost look down at him. She was serious, looking him over for several beats.

“Gaby Teller is kissing me,” he added. “It must be a dream.”

A smile split her beautiful face.

“I’ll show you dreaming,” she said and attacked his mouth, climbing fully into his lap.

She wrapped her legs around him and he felt the heat of her inner thighs around his hips, her flat belly pressed to his, her small breasts brushing his chest and everything inside him went impossibly tighter.

Her sweet little tongue dove into his mouth this time, taking him, owning him and he gripped her back just trying to hold on.

They kissed until they were breathless. Deep, hungry kisses interspersed with soft, brushes of lips, both making him ache in completely different ways. They kissed until Gaby grew restless in his arms, rubbing her body against his in a way that said she could feel the effect she was having on him. Kissed until the urge to roll her beneath him and take this so much _further_ made him pull back instead.

She immediately started kissing along his jaw and over his throat.

“Gaby, wait.” His voice was rough, needy, even to his own ears.

She pressed in to suck at his pulse point and for a moment he completely forgot what he’d been about to say.

“I think we should stop,” he managed when she’d moved on to his earlobe, half whisper, half moan.

Gaby pulled back, face flushed, mouth soft. “Stop?”

He nodded. Gaby shifted in his lap and he had to close his eyes against the sensation. She wrapped her arms around his head, fingers combing his hair.

“If you’re just trying to be a gentleman,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want to stop.”

A flash of heat went through him and she ducked down to kiss him again. He took it, kissed her in return, his palm sliding down her back to cup her bottom.

“I don’t want to…” he tried when she pulled away but had to swallow the spike of desire the sight of her wet lips caused.

“You don’t want to?” she half demanded and rolled her hips against all the evidence she needed to the contrary. His hand gripped her hips to still her but he couldn’t bring himself to move her away. Instead, he just held her there, hot and real against him.

“I don’t want to rush things,” he said finally and she stilled.

One of her hands came down to cup his cheek and he could feel the callouses on her palm, as precious to him as every other part of her. Her thumb brushed over his lower lip and he sighed into her touch.

“Illya, it’s been a year and a half. Who’s rushing?”

There was a smile hiding at the corner of her mouth and he kissed it before reaching up to push a strand of hair from her forehead.  He couldn’t stop himself from tracing a finger over her temple, along the line of her jaw.

“I know,” he whispered. “But I think maybe we should… talk.”

“Talk,” she huffed. She moved to climb off of him but he stopped her, pulling her right back against him. She smiled then, some of the tension leaving her, and settled down in his lap. “I suppose talking would probably be a good idea.”

He watched her eyes, dark and fathomless but looking back at him with acres of fondness. His breath was shaky even as he teased. “Are you actually agreeing with me?”

“Mm,” she hummed, non-committal then bowed forward to kiss him again. It was meant to be quick but he couldn’t bring himself to let her go. He kissed a line over her jaw and nuzzled into her neck, breathing her in.

“Is this how they talk where you’re from?” she asked on a breathless laugh.

“Yes,” he said, right against her skin. “Russian talking is very passionate.”

She laughed and pushed him away. He fell back onto his elbows, looking up at her.

“We’re not going to get any talking done like this,” she said and then leaned forward to kiss him one more time. “And you’re not the only one who wants to make sure this thing keeps going outside of this room.”

“Gaby,” he breathed, stunned at how precisely she had hit on his fear.

She hovered over him for a moment. “One week,” she said.

He furrowed his brow. “One week?”

“One week of ‘talking’ and a real date,” she said and his eyes widened. “I know you’re thinking about that. One week and then I want you.”

She leaned over him and kissed him, pulling his lower lip between her teeth and biting softly.

“All of you.”

He felt himself blush as she pulled away. Felt his whole body respond to that promise. And then, with what seemed to be great effort, she climbed off him and out of the bed.

“Why don’t you shower and I’ll make us breakfast?” she said, straightening her pajamas. “Waverly left you some stuff — toothbrush, razor — it’s in the bathroom.”

He sat there looking at her for a long time, worried the whole thing was about to break. He’d move from the bed and fall to the floor, waking to find it was just a dream.

Then Gaby looked back at him and held out her hand.

“C’mon,” she called and he reached out to take it. Her fingers slid into his, warm and strong and real. “I’ve got you.”

She absolutely did.

 

❧

 

Solo knocked at Gaby’s front door late the next morning, loaded down with several brown paper sacks and a large, black garment bag.

“Come in!” her voice called from somewhere inside and he frowned, looking the door up and down as if it was somehow responsible for this breech in responsibility.

Deciding maybe she had her hands full with something, a sick Russian perhaps, he rebalanced the load in his arms and reached for the knob. It turned easily and the door swung open without resistance. Instinctively, he braced himself, sliding his now free hand into his jacket to unsnap his shoulder holster before stepping through the doorway. His eyes scanned the room and he stopped for just inside when he found his partners.

They were both seated on Gaby’s small couch, dressed in pajamas and looking as casual as anyone else might on their day off. The chess set Gaby had bought earlier in the week was set out on her coffee table, the pieces in various states of play.

Illya was reading the paper, not bothering to raise his head at Solo’s entrance and Gaby was beside him, sipping from a steaming mug. One of her legs was thrown over one of the Russian’s, bouncing at the heel, and Illya’s hand was resting on her knee as though it was the most normal thing in the world for them to be doing.

He felt a smile pull at his cheeks but he had one thing to deal with first.

“You let her leave the door unlocked and just call for some random person to come in?”

“ _Let_ me?” Gaby asked, raising an eyebrow in a way he knew he had taught her. She held up a very scary looking knife and tilted it in the light, looking at it fondly before turning back to him. Where she’d had it stashed, he had no idea.

“Is her apartment,” Illya said and then produced a pistol from out of nowhere. That wasn’t anything new, Solo had grown accustomed to Illya being perpetually armed.

“Besides,” Gaby said. “I knew it was you.”

He tilted his head. “How, exactly?”

“By your knock,” she said. “I can always tell.”

“And how do I knock?”

“I’m not going to _tell_ you,” she said, leaning forward to put her cup down. “You’ll start over thinking it and mess things up.”

Illya put his paper down and turned to her. “You know when I am knocking?”

She smiled softly. “Of course I know when you are knocking.”

There was something so at ease in the moment, so perfectly comfortable, that Solo had to take a moment to be sure he was really seeing it.

“Is this how things are going to be from now on?” he asked.

“Yes,” Gaby said without the slightest bit of hesitation. Illya’s cheeks seemed to pink up a bit but he turned back with a firm nod.

Well, that was certainly a development.

“I’ve come bearing food, and other helpful items, but no one has greeted me properly or asked about my health or even wished me a Happy New Year. I’m already the third man out.” He gave his head a little shake.

Gaby laughed and climbed off the couch, crossing the room on her bare feet. Setting a hand on his shoulder, she pushed up to her tiptoes and brushed a kiss against his cheek.

“Happy New Year, Solo,” she said before turning her attention to the packages he carried.

“Pastrami from Vardi’s,” he said, when she peeked inside one of the bags and her eyes lit up as she carried it away to her little kitchen.

Illya had also crossed the room and unloaded the rest of his burden, looking over the largest one slowly.

“This is my garment bag.”

“Yes, I brought you some clothes. Nothing was clean, Peril. You really shouldn’t put off household chores for so long. I sent everything off to the cleaners and brought this for you today.”

“How did you get into my apartment?” Illya said with a frown. “You don’t have a key.”

Solo scoffed. “As if I need a key.”

Illya’s scowl deepened.

“The locks you installed were definitely more of a challenge than the average door though, if that makes you feel better.”

“It does not, but…” Looking inside and spotting one of his turtlenecks, he nodded before turning away. “Thank you.”

He laid the bag over the back of Gaby’s couch before following her into the kitchen. Solo trailed after, humming a little tune that was suddenly stuck in his head.

Gaby had set out three plates and was arranging the sandwiches on them. Illya moved to stand beside her, opening the last bag and pulling out a large deli container of soup. Solo watched him frown slightly before pulling off the top to look inside. He stilled, with the lid still in the air, as he took in the contents and Solo turned away, leaning back against the counter and striking a pose of indifference.

“What is that?” Gaby asked peeking under Illya’s arm.

“Schi,” Illya replied.

“It looks like a cabbage soup.”

“Because it _is_ a cabbage soup,” he said and Solo could hear the playful tease in his voice. Peril so at ease around their Chop Shop girl? A strange new reality.

Illya looked over the top of Gaby’s head and locked eyes with him. “Where did you find this?”

Solo shrugged. “That deli near your apartment. I was there anyway getting your clothes and I’m told soup is the thing for sick people.”

“Thank you, Solo,” Gaby said. “All he was able to eat this morning was plain toast.”

Solo looked over at him then, scanning him quickly as a little frisson of worry buzzed through him.

Illya huffed. “I am fine. It is just that I do not usually eat breakfast.”

“Of course, Gaby, we aren’t to worry about him at all,” Solo said, voice droll. “He was only injected with some mystery drug cocktail and spent the night spouting random truths. Then there was the fever and the hives and the —”

“I assure you, I am fully recovered,” Illya insisted.

“You told me I smelled nice,” Solo said grinning.

Illya set down the bowl he had retrieved from Gaby’s cupboard with a clunk, standing up a little straighter, jaw flexing.

“I’ll take some of that soup as well, if you don’t mind,” Solo tossed out with a wink before picking up the plates with the sandwiches and carrying them to the dining table.

 

❧

 

“So,” Solo said after finishing off the last of his sandwich. “When did this happen?” He gestured between his partners with a finger.

“None of your business,” Illya said. He had eaten a large bowl of soup and one pastrami sandwich, plus the rest of Gaby’s. It made Solo feel a little less concerned and more like pressing his luck.

“Anything that affects our partnership is my business, actually.”

Gaby rolled her eyes. “This morning we… talked,” she said running a hand over Illya’s forearm where it rested on the table. “We cleared up some _miscommunication_. That’s all you need to know.”

“I see, and by talked you mean…”

Illya spoon clattered in his bowl as he glared up at him.

Solo gave him a cheeky grin and Gaby rolled her eyes.

Illya stood to his feet and collected the dishes.

“I can do that,” she said putting a hand on him.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Stop coddling.”

Gaby sat back and made a thoroughly affronted sound. “Fine, then, do the dishes too. I won’t be offended.”

Solo raised an eyebrow as he witnessed the exchange but Gaby turned back with a broad smile and he couldn’t stop the rush of affection he felt for her.

“So, this is what the chess set was for,” he said thoughtfully. “Ice breaker?”

She shook her head. “I told you before, it’s none of your business.”

“Okay, but what does all this mean?” he asked leaning forward.

Gaby gave a little shrug but there was something there in that familiar move. She was beyond pleased, he hadn’t seen it in quite some time. “Like I said, we cleared up some miscommunication.”

Solo shook his head. He should probably know better than to try and get a straight answer from a spy.

“So, you two are _together_ now.” It was a statement. Simple, straightforward and something he found himself hoping was true.

Gaby turned to look at Illya. He was bent over her sink, the arms of his pajamas rolled up as he washed the dishes in her sink. She turned back, bringing her cup to her lips as if it could hide her grin.

A knock at the door interrupted his intention to press her further.

“Who is that?” Illya asked, stepping back into the room with a frown as he dried his hands on one of Gaby’s kitchen towels.

“I don’t know,” Gaby said, sounding equally displeased.

“Come in!” Solo sang over his shoulder, turning back to them with a smile when they laid frighteningly similar glares on him. He gave a little shrug in response.

They all looked up as Gaby’s front door opened and Solo’s doppelganger, and UNCLE’s head nurse, walked inside.

“Mark!” Gaby said, pushing back her chair and moving across to greet him. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Mark replied, setting a large medical bag aside on Gaby’s coffee table. “I know Agent Solo said one, but I had a look at Agent Kuryakin’s blood work and,” he looked over Gaby’s head to Illya. “I know Waverly came over but I would really like to take a quick look, just to be sure, if you don’t mind, Sir.”

“I am fine,” Illya said. “As I keep telling these two.”

Mark smiled and though the face was startlingly similar, the smile was nothing like Solo’s. “Just put my mind at ease?”

Illya sighed and nodded.

Gaby put a hand on Mark’s arm for a moment. “Wait, Solo said ‘one’ for what?”

Mark frowned. “The party.”

Illya and Gaby both turned to Solo.

“Oh, did I forget to mention that?” His smile was all warmth and charm. “Since we missed ringing in the new year properly, I thought I would invite a few people over to help us rectify the situation.”

Illya threw the dish towel he was holding aside and treated him to a full body eye roll. Gaby crossed her arms, settling into an angry stance.

“This is _my_ apartment, Solo,” she growled, Mark looking increasingly nervous over her shoulder.

“I didn't forget, I just knew if I was going to do this, I’d have to bring the party to you. Besides, you’ve got the most well-stocked liquor cabinet.”

“Ha,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes at him as well.

“Gaby,” Illya said, coming around the table and leaning in to her. “ _Lock the door_.”

 

❧

 

True to his word, Solo had only had invited a few people — if by a “few” you meant twenty or so, which of course was Solo’s basic definition of a few.

After Mark, Liz Bennett had arrived, arms laden with food and wine which she offered to Gaby with a hesitant smile. She was a fairly new recruit and Gaby couldn’t find the heart to turn her away. So, instead, she smiled back and pulled her inside, resigned to what Solo had wrought.

Not long afterward Waverly arrived with his wife, Miranda, and a sight that brought them all a rush of relief: Sarah Fernandez, looking a little pale but standing on her own two feet. After that, even Illya was a little more in a celebratory mood.

A handful of people from the secretary pool arrived, along with Martin and Bobby from the garage. Rashid Hatem and his partner Elena Accosta, came in a little later, carrying several more trays of food and a box of crazy hats that everyone had set upon with ridiculous enthusiasm.

The last to arrive was Alexi Bashkin, the only other KGB agent working with UNCLE, bursting in through the door with two bottles of vodka in each hand and announcing that the party could finally begin. His unabashed self-confidence inspired Illya to cover his face with one large hand and shake his head in shame.

Gaby’s furniture was pushed aside and her record player employed. People danced and drank, ate and talked, huddled in corners and draped over furniture. A few of Gaby’s neighbors had ended up sneaking inside as well, unable to resist one last holiday party before surrendering to the long, dreary winter months to come.

Gaby balanced a tumbler of vodka on her head as she tried to lure Solo into doing the twist with her. From a chair in the corner, Illya watched the entire scene, a pint of beer balanced on his knee. He smiled softly at Gaby’s antics and she caught him at it, taking the glass off her head and stalking toward him. She threw herself into his lap, barely giving him time to lift his glass out of the way before she landed, and he looked down at her fondly as she settled into his arms.

“Are you having fun?” he asked, one hand curving around her waist to pull her in a little closer.

“I am,” she said. “Are you?”

There was a little crinkle at the corner of his eyes that gave away the not-quite smile. “More than I thought I would.” He looked around the room for a moment. “People are happy and hopeful.” He looked back to her, catching her eye, tilting his head to really take her in. “ _I_ am hopeful.”

Gaby’s body relaxed in his arms and her hand came up to cup his cheek. She leaned up to kiss him, her lips gliding over his, soft and slow before pulling back.

He darted another look around the room. “Someone will see.”

A shrug. “Let them see,” she said. “Things have changed. They might as well get used to it.”

“Illya and Gaby sitting in a tree…”

They both turn sharply to look up at Solo who had appeared beside them as if from nowhere.

“What are you talking about?” Gaby asked.

“We are not in a tree,” Illya felt the need to point out.

“K I S S I N G,” Solo sang, smirking at them over his glass of scotch.

Illya shook his head. “You are a child.”

Gaby raised an eyebrow. “That was hardly kissing,” she said tartly. “ _This_ is kissing.” She wrapped her arms around Illya and pulled him into a long, greedy kiss. At first the man froze beneath the onslaught, but she won out in the end and he surrendered beneath it, his arm tightening around her.

Somewhere in the room, someone ‘whooped’ and Gaby laughed as Illya pulled away blushing. He glared out at the room as if he could find the culprit. She leaned in and whispered something in his ear that had him turning back to focus on her instead.

Waverly watched them from across the room with a thoughtful smile. Maybe most men running an intelligence agency wouldn’t be encouraged by two of his top agents falling in love but he wasn’t exactly a man of traditional thinking. He had a feeling that, with these two finally operating off all the same pages, they would be a force to reckon with.

He was looking forward to it.

  
❧ END ☙

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading you guys! I hope it was enjoyable in spite of its flaws and that you can forgive the indulgence of including a bunch of my OC's!
> 
> Happy (Late Late) New Year everyone. 
> 
> Viva La Gallya!


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